Abridged Horizon

What follows is a continuation of my prior post, authored almost without pause, and titled somewhat the same. The previous having been written at a point where there was space that has since disappeared.

The writing of that post was in the final draft phase, actively open on my computer, being spell-checked for publication, when the validation of my assumptions and the impetus for this follow-up came in the form of an email appearing in the inbox behind the active window. An email titled "me."


As seems to happen more often, thoughts and intuition align with an action or occurrence completely outside of my control. Jen and I have experienced this, and each time, we've looked at each other with a sense of stunned disbelief. It's like when you think of somebody you have not contacted in years moments before they call you out of the blue.


While putting the final touches on that Feb. 14 post about the pause and space between life dramas, I came to learn that my mom's health was indeed, as anticipated, going to be the next upheaval after all. She has been diagnosed with "Acute Myeloid Leukemia". AML is considered one of the most common kinds of aggressive leukemia in adults. It can be delayed, but it's effectively a terminal diagnosis.

The past decade has been spent with a growing consciousness that she will not always be here. That she won't last forever. Thought with increasing frequency, often after being able to call and ask some random tidbit about how to make a favorite dish the way she's perfected or an abstract inquiry about my childhood home as well as far more deep and introspective conversations around wisdom, experience and insight from somebody that's been one of the most significant influences.

It's been well understood that this would be an eventuality. Yet I was still unprepared for the moment I stood outside the Stanford Cancer Center building the following morning, realizing that "eventually" was now. This was happening. This is how my mother, my sole surviving parent, is likely to die.

The numerous reasonable and expected emotions quickly became overwhelming, all happening simultaneously, echoing in unison while lacking coordinated harmony. There's heartbreak for the loss we will experience with her eventual absence, yet reverent gratitude for recognizing that our shared time has allowed our relationship to evolve and strengthen through numerous life experiences on our respective and connected journeys.

We will have more time together. She's decided to try the recommended treatments, understanding that they'll hopefully extend the inevitable for an uncertain but limited amount of time, allowing her to focus on the final stretch, to ensure she's closed off any loose ends and to likely be in control of the timing and circumstances of her exit. Unless, as the doctor implied, things go well enough that you live long enough to die from a different cause. Such is the uncertainty.